


In Bed in Venice

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Consensual Sex, Endeavour Morse Needs a Hug, Episode: s07e03 Zenana, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Fred Thursday, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Both Endeavour Morse and Fred Thursday are distraught over the deaths of Violetta and Ludo Talenti. That night in Venice they have only one another to turn to for comfort.
Relationships: Endeavour Morse & Violetta Talenti, Endeavour Morse/Fred Thursday
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. Thursday’s Nightmare

Half awake he struggles to throw off the heavy weight of sleep which is dragging him back down into that warm, quiet oblivion. Huffing for breath, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up. The odd light, dancing across the ceiling of the room confuses him with its ripples and reflections. 

“Venice,” he thinks, remembering where he is.

The strange half light in the room begins to make sense, moonlight on water mirrored in through the bedroom window, casting unearthly shadows. It’s still the very early hours of the morning.

He reluctantly remembers the dream that has woken him. A young man grinning at him, laughing as if life were all just a huge joke, despite Thursday’s gun pointing at him. Then a gunshot and the shock of a terrible pain in his own chest had startled him out of his sleep.

Shaking his head to try to clear his thoughts, he looks around, the layout of the room still strange to him. Locating the bathroom door he launches himself from the side of the bed and shuffles towards it, stiff legged with too much travel and not enough sleep.

Fumbling for the switch, Thursday surveys the bathroom through squinting eyes in the sudden dazzle of the light. He takes a long, loud piss, sighing with the relief of emptying his full bladder. As he washes his hands, he peers at his reflection in the mirror, regretting the bags under his eyes and the grey sag of his cheeks. He raises heavy hands to rub some life back into his tired face. 

He remembers clearly that it was not him who was shot but Talenti. He feels an immense sorrow to have killed the fellow. He cannot understand how it turned out so badly, with Talenti’s death instead of a simple arrest. Why didn’t Talenti just give himself up?

Gripping the edges of the cold porcelain basin, Thursday slowly doubles over as his bile rises. He squeezes his eyes closed to shut out Talenti’s mocking grin and he retches above the sink. After the dry heaves fade he splashes handfuls of cold water onto his face. He turns away from the mirror so that he doesn’t have to see the guilt in his eyes that bothers him so badly. 

He tries not to make too much noise but the bathroom light snaps off loudly and the door squeaks when he closes it. Padding back to the huge bed on bare feet, Thursday lifts the covers and hauls himself back in to the welcoming warmth. He’d slept in his vest and underpants, only realising when he looked through his overnight bag that he’d not packed any pyjamas in his rush to catch the boat train yesterday morning.

Was it only yesterday he’d set off from Oxford in a frantic dash to catch up with Morse? To back up this hare brained scheme of Morse’s to discover and stop the Talentis here in Venice? So much had happened yesterday, the long train ride, the anxiety of tracking down Morse and, God forgive him, two people shot dead, one by his own hand.

Thursday lies on his back and groans at the ceiling. A young woman dead, a young man dead, leaving behind a trail of murders disguised as accidents and Morse left broken hearted. God, what a mess.

He is haunted by the memory of Ludo Talenti’s wide grin, laughing at him, willing him to pull the trigger. He cannot understand why the young man, with so much to live for, had welcomed death so lightly. Thursday cannot forgive himself. Why couldn’t he have talked Talenti round, got him to lay down his gun, given himself up? Instead the sound of the gun going off in his own hand and the splash of Talenti falling back into the water continue to ring in his ears.

Thursday closes his eyes and tries to drift off again. He is close to sleep when he hears the soft, insistent sound of crying. He’d rather drift back to sleep than have to deal with this right now but he can’t just ignore someone who needs his help. Especially not when that someone is the reason he’s come all this way in such a tearing hurry.

Thursday sighs once more, resigning himself to further grief.

“Morse?” he breathes into the half-darkness, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Morse?”

The crying stops momentarily after a hitch of breath but then continues more loudly than before.

Thursday looks across the wide bed to the shape huddled on the far side of the mattress, the bed covers dragged into a tangle. He can make out the clenched hand clutching the top of the sheets and a mass of curls outlined against the white pillow in the silver moonlight. 

Sighing once more, Thursday shifts himself up onto an elbow and turns towards the crying figure. He has to creep across the empty expanse of bed between them to be able reach out for the skinny shoulder that is turned away from him. He glides his hand around the warm flesh, touching him lightly so as not to startle the young man.

“Morse,” he says again, his voice low and thick with sleep. 

For Thursday is sharing a bed with Morse, the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, in a luxurious hotel room in Venice.


	2. Morse’s Confession

The terrible events of last night are all too fresh to allow either Morse or Thursday to get back to sleep. Only several hours ago Morse was so broken by the death of Violetta Talenti that Thursday had not dared let him out of his sight and escorted him back here to Morse’s hotel room. They’d had a brief consideration of the sofa before both had collapsed exhausted into the huge bed, one either side, separated by a couple of yards and their huge weight of grief and regret.

In the early morning light Thursday cannot ignore the heart wrenching sound of Morse crying.

“Morse!” he insists in a gentle voice, “come here to me now!”

Thursday grips the shoulder that Morse keeps stubbornly turned from him and hauls Morse onto his back. Running one arm under Morse’s shoulders, Thursday scoops him up and rolls onto his own back taking Morse with him. He wraps both arms around Morse and tucks him firmly under his wing. Morse, limp and unresisting, slides into place, shifting his head onto Thursday’s shoulder.

“There now, lad! It’s done now,” says Thursday in a low, comforting rumble that vibrates through his chest. “All over and done with.”

Morse shudders, trying to catch his breath while fighting down the sobs. The lad leans into him, knobbly knees digging into Thursday’s firm thighs, sharp hips pressing against his ample stomach and skinny ribs grating on his own.

“I never meant…” Morse croaks out.

“I know, lad, I know,” Thursday soothes.

Morse is not the only one with regrets. Thursday struggles with the knowledge that he has killed a man, albeit a wicked fellow who had arranged for the deaths of so many victims in a scheme to grow rich on their life insurance policies. He’d shot Talenti in self defence before he could shoot back although he had wanted to avoid taking the man’s life. More importantly he had saved Morse’s life and that’s all that matters.

He tucks Morse in more closely trying to get him to settle down.

Instead Morse rears up, elbow propped on Thursday’s chest.

“She tried to stop him, tried to save me…” Morse blurts out.

“Ooof!” Thursday replies, Morse’s sharp elbow digging into the tender spot between shattered ribs where he’d once nearly died from a gunshot wound. It’s a painful reminder of how close each of them came to being shot dead just hours ago.

Thursday shoves Morse back down beside him to take the pressure off his wound. He reaches round behind Morse and takes hold of a handful of Morse’ vest to anchor him into place. 

“I tried to save her,” Morse gurgles into Thursday’s broad chest. “But she saved me. Threw herself in the way…”.

As the story unfolds, Thursday listens carefully. Morse needs to unburden himself.

This is the version Morse had kept from the Italian Police when they’d both been questioned last night. Violetta Talenti’s death had been explained away by Morse as a deliberate attack by Ludo to stop his wife from talking to the police. No mention of her heroic attempt to save Morse’s life because that would have needed an explanation of the affair that Morse had had with her.

“She needn’t have, she could have just run. Why did she have to stay?” Morse, for all his brains, just can’t see the wood for the trees sometimes.

“Perhaps she stayed for you? Mebbe she knew he’d try to kill you?” Thursday’s blunt explanation is too near the mark and Morse doesn’t want to hear it, can’t handle the guilt of causing her death. He fears he was the reason she remained here in Venice.

Morse thought she’d loved him at the start of their affair but now is convinced she was just using him, she’d never really loved him. She’d stayed with her husband when Morse had begged her to come with him hadn’t she?

“I just wanted to stop them, it needn’t have ended like this,” he tries to convince himself.

Morse mutters on, spilling out his confession for Thursday’s ears only.

Absently, Thursday reaches under Morse’s vest to stroke his back, trying to comfort him and finding comfort for himself. He spreads his broad hand, fingers wide across the smooth, warm skin. His thoughts drift to the sensation of stroking his young man, back and forth, enjoying the feeling more than he should.

He holds Morse in his arms, alive if badly shaken, and sends up a grateful prayer of thanks that he has not lost his dearest lad this time. He put his life on the line to save Morse and would do it again. But here and now, just for one night, Thursday feels he deserves a rest and lies back contentedly with his young man in his arms.


	3. Kissing Morse

Comforting Morse in the night after both Violetta and Ludo Talenti have been shot dead, Thursday tries to concentrate on what Morse is saying. He’s a bit too long winded for him to follow every word, but he gets the gist of it, that Morse is distraught both for being conned by Ludo and for being in love with Violetta. Thursday offers no discussion, just continues the pleasant chore of cuddling and stroking Morse while he’s talking.

Thursday’s hand has found the softest spot in the small of Morse’s back. He glides his fingertips over the downy skin for the sheer pleasure of finding something lovely to think on after all the horror of the day before. He is still listening, of course he is, as he slides his hand flat under the waistband of the back of Morse’s pants. 

Morse’s guilt over Violetta’s death, his anguish over their affair, together with his pain at realising she was playing him along all come spewing out. His naivety in the face of Ludo’s sophisticated deceptions and control of his wife have left Morse shaken and doubting himself. Morse is appalled at his own stupidity in being caught up in their lies and tricks. He tells Thursday everything, desperate to rid himself of the thoughts that torment him.

Eventually Morse goes quiet, all talked out and weary with crying. Talking is not enough, he needs a physical release from this pain.

He shifts his weight against Thursday’s bulk, levering himself a little higher up so that Thursday’s warm hand can reach down to Morse’s behind. Thursday deliberately takes hold of Morse’s firm bum and nips it softly to see what reaction he’ll get, anything to break the tension between them. Inadvertently he catches Morse just at the moment when the young man’s thoughts give up on his intellectual argument and switch to wanting a more physical outcome.

Morse huffs and wriggles a bit higher for Thursday to get a better handful.

“Like that do you?” asks Thursday, amused at his response.

“Mmmm,” Morse hums into Thursday’s shoulder.

Thursday touches Morse’s bum cheek, patting and pinching gently, questioning how much of this the young man will allow. In answer Morse shifts again to shove his groin against Thursday’s hip. He has been shielding his erection until now, ashamed and confused at the emotions he feels, but now he grinds himself into Thursday’s solid frame. 

Reaching round with both hands, Thursday cups Morse’s arse tightly to pull him in against his side. 

“That’s it, lad. I’ve got you,” soothes the older man, unperturbed by Morse’s reaction. If the fury and heartache work themselves out this way then so be it, he thinks. His only thought is to comfort Morse.

“I just wanted…I just wanted…,” Morse grunts, clutching at Thursday, building up a rhythm.

“You just wanted to do the right thing, didn’t you?” growls Thursday in Morse’s ear.

“Wanted her to…to want me…to love me,” Morse gasps, humping faster now.

Thursday wraps one arm around Morse’s slim waist and leans away to watch his young man work himself up. With his free hand, Thursday combs his fingers through those soft curls of Morse’s fringe, leaving just enough space on his forehead for Thursday to plant a firm kiss. 

“And you loved her, didn’t you?”

“Yesss” Morse hisses. 

Another kiss to encourage him.

“And she loved you?”

“I thought she did,” spits Morse. “But she went back to him… said she loved me…but she didn’t mean it…it was all a lie.”

“Not all of it?” Thursday counters.

Morse judders to a slower pace, reluctant to admit he was completely destroyed by Violetta’s betrayal.

“All of it! They played me for a fool, his ‘pet policeman’ he said.”

So here it was at last, the bitter end of the story. Morse had chased them down not for love but for revenge. He’d been made a fool of and that was what hurt the most. He could stand the heartbreak but not the humiliation. 

It pains Thursday to hear this but he knows Morse and now understands why Morse had been so determined to find the Talentis at any cost. He tries to lessen the wound that Morse feels, whether in his pride or his heart.

“She stopped a bullet for you, Morse. You must have meant something to her!”

“Maybe,” Morse admits reluctantly, “at the end.”

Thursday knows Morse will dwell on this hurt to the point of self destruction and needs to be diverted urgently.

He cuddles Morse in closer and kisses him again. 

Distracted by Thursday’s kisses, Morse slows his thrusting hips and lifts his head.

Thursday’s heart skips a beat as those blue eyes gaze at him, searching for something Morse wants, something he knows Thursday can give him. He figures out what that is when Morse leans his head towards Thursday’s lips, yearning for another kiss. Thursday obliges, pressing his lips firmly to the damp forehead. Morse twists his face up a fraction, shyly presenting more of his face to Thursday. 

He hasn’t the heart to deny Morse what he wants. The lad has been through so much heartache that it will take all of Thursday’s attention to hold him together. 

Besides, Thursday very much wants to cuddle and cosset the pretty lad, longing for some comfort of his own. He has his own regrets and sorrows from last night and welcomes this distraction to put them aside for a while.

His big hand tips Morse under the chin so that he can reach down to kiss him on the cheek, then turns his head for the lightest kiss on his eyelid and finally brushes Morse’s lips with his own. Morse blinks rapidly, wanting more than this not-quite-a-kiss, waiting nervously for Thursday to respond.

“Another?” asks Thursday.

Morse nods, his eyes pleading.

He kisses Morse again. He is enjoying kissing his lad, who is so very alive under his hands that he drives away all thought of the recent dead.

“Again?” 

This time Thursday settles to the task. He turns to Morse, runs his hand through his curls and as he leans in he closes his eyes. Their lips touch and Thursday skims the tip of his tongue across the lad’s lower lip. Morse relaxes into the caress and is held by Thursday’s hand caressing the back of his head. Thursday’s lips press harder on Morse’s until he opens his mouth to let Thursday’s tongue push in. 

They kiss deeply, breathe steadily, and Thursday starts to enjoy himself. He’d sometimes wondered about Morse, such a pretty lad with a reputation for breaking hearts including his own, and had seen Morse and Violetta together. If this latest heartbreak needs to be erased with kisses and kindness then for Morse’s sake he’ll do his best.


	4. I Want Her!

Lost in the delicious sensation of kissing Morse, Thursday lies in bed with him in Venice, wondering if this is just a dream from which he will awake. The physical satisfaction is real enough, with Morse wrapping himself around Thursday’s solid frame, all strong limbs and firm muscle.

After a few minutes, Morse begins to twist and turn.

“What? You want me to stop?” Thursday asks as they break off kissing, not wanting to force the lad. 

Morse is wriggling like an eel in his arms which confuses Thursday, but as soon as he loosens his grip, Morse tears off his own clothes and launches himself back into his arms.

“Naked, eh?” Thursday laughs in relief at his lad’s enthusiasm. So he does want this, that’s certain. He reaches round with a long arm to slap Morse’s arse playfully but Morse is not in a playful mood. 

Morse grinds himself roughly into Thursday, wanting something more. The kisses are not enough and he is greedy for something else.

“What is it you want Morse?” demands Thursday.

“I want her!” wails Morse in anguish.

Thursday is taken aback, all playfulness forgotten.

The sorrow in his voice jars through Thursday who is incensed that his poor lad should have been so badly used by those wicked bastards. Angry now and determined to see his lad through this wretched night, Thursday grabs his slim hips and barrels Morse over onto his back. He pins Morse down onto the bed with his broad shoulders. He is stronger than Morse and heavier, holding him down whilst Morse fights against him.

“Listen to me now! You can’t spend the rest of your life looking for her. She’s gone.”

Morse turns his face away, struggling against Thursday who will not release him.

“I know that!” he snaps back, angry and frustrated. “I just want to lose myself, to think of her. To forget myself.”

He turns to look at Thursday, begging for his help, the need and anger and hurt written all over his face. Thursday relents, anything to help his lad through this night of sorrows. He nods his agreement to do whatever Morse wants.

“What can I do, Morse?”

Morse pulls impatiently at Thursday’s wrist to drag his hand down in the gap between their two bellies, Morse’s bare while Thursday’s is still demurely tucked in his underwear. When Thursday’s hard hand brushes Morse’s erection he gasps and throws an arm round Thursday’s neck.

“This what you want?” asks Thursday, curling his fingers around Morse’s stiff cock. So long as Morse needs his help, Thursday goes along with his demands. Under the circumstances it doesn’t seem too much trouble if it will satisfy his precious lad.

Morse huffs a yes and starts to thrust hard into Thursday’s hand. He takes up his confession again, timing his phrases to the jerk of his hips.

“I brought her here…the first time…made love to her…in this room…in this bed…”

It takes Thursday a moment to process this. He is surprised at Morse’s self delusion that he could possibly have thought of coming back here to somehow relive just a little of his lost romance.

“You had her here? You came back to the same room?” wonders Thursday. He loosens his grip on Morse who pushes back into his hand not wanting him to stop. 

“I just wanted it to be how it was before,” he admits, wrapping his own hand round Thursday’s, wanting to be held tighter.

“Oh, lad. You have to put it behind you, move on.” Thursday bows over Morse, trying to shelter him with his own body. Morse turns away, tears starting again in his eyes, one stray tear sliding down his cheek.

Thursday leans in to kiss away the tear. He grips him again, knowing this is what Morse wants and it might just quiet him down for the night. Besides he wants to hear the full confession, to understand what the hell Morse was thinking and to find some answers of his own.


	5. Thursday Comforts Morse

Morse has unburdened himself of his searing regret that he has triggered the events leading to Violetta Talenti’s death. And confessed that despite her wicked husband and her own apparent involvement in the deaths of so many innocent victims, he still loves her. No one else will ever hear this truth, too painful for Morse to ever admit to anyone else. Only Fred Thursday, his former governor, the friend who followed him here to Venice and saved his life, will ever know how Morse really feels about this whole sorry business.

Having confessed this to Thursday, Morse is now all out of words. He is panting in time with Thursday stroking his cock. Thursday lies half on top of Morse, propped up on one elbow, watching his young man’s face. As Thursday pumps him faster, Morse lets himself relax, trusting Thursday to see him right. Thursday slows down, not to tease but to prolong Morse’s enjoyment. He has forgotten himself, concentrating solely on Morse’s pleasure.

“Faster,” hisses Morse and Thursday obeys.

Morse trusts up into Thursday’s hard hand, moaning, head tipped back, his face softening in bliss. Awed at how stunning he looks, Thursday watches a pink flush creep up Morse’s throat. His gorgeous blue eyes, half hidden behind heavy lids, are watching Thursday who realises he is waiting for permission of sorts.

“Come for me, lad, come for me now. I want to see you come…” Thursday croons through clenched teeth, relishing the sight of his lad coming undone.

“Oh, Sir, I’m going to…Fred!”

Morse’s eyelids flutter as he climaxes and comes into Thursday’s fist. Thursday is sure he has never seen anything quite so beautiful as this young man, with the face of an angel, lying exhausted and vulnerable beneath him.

With a final few shudders, Morse is thoroughly satisfied and slumps bonelessly back in a heap. Thursday tries to lift himself gently off Morse who whimpers and clings to him, not letting him go just yet. Obligingly, content to cuddle him some more, Thursday lays back down, reassuring Morse that he’s not going anywhere for now. After such unexpected intimacy, both are certain that whatever the morning brings, they will face it together.

8888 

Having taken Morse in hand, Thursday is relieved he has done all he can for now. By hearing him out, Thursday has also learned the truth of how Morse really feels about the Talentis. He feels privileged to have heard Morse bare his soul and to have put his complete trust in him, another secret they will keep between them.

Although Morse seems to have quieted his own demons for the moment, Thursday is still haunted by the death of Ludo Talenti. Having shot him dead last night, he can’t get Ludo’s dying grin out of his mind.

He asks the question that has been tearing at him. Only Morse will know the answer now. The only other two people involved are dead.

“He laughed, Morse. Why did he laugh at me?”

Morse stirs and stretches.

“Ludo?”

“Yeah. I told him to drop his gun but he just laughed. I had to fire. He would have shot me else.”

There is a moment’s silence as Morse considers this pitiful end to one who was once his friend.

“He wasn’t laughing at you.” Morse decides, sounding weary now.

“What then?” demands Thursday.

“I think…I think he was just glad to be in control. At the end. It was his decision, not yours. He was laughing because he got to choose what he wanted.”

“Hmmfff! Really? To end his own life?”

“Yes. I think so. He had no option, did he? Facing a life in prison or hanging. He wouldn’t have wanted that. So he chose to take his own way out.” Morse yawned, bored with how obvious this seemed to him. “He had to make you shoot him so he forced your hand.”

Thursday considers this twisted logic. In a strange way it makes sense to him now. Ludo’s grin, his slow attempt to raise his gun, ignoring Thursday’s warning, it could all be explained if this was a deliberate decision to get himself killed.

It’s not what he wanted to hear, that Ludo had the last say in how and when he died, but Thursday feels the burden of shooting him has lifted a little. Morse’s explanation has given Thursday some relief from the guilt he feels at killing the man. Grateful for Morse’s reassurance, Thursday snuggles down against his lad feeling he can rest easier now.


	6. Morse Thanks Thursday

“You asleep?” asks Morse quietly.

His head resting on Morse’s chest, Thursday agrees hums a quiet acknowledgement.

They are wrapped together under the bedcovers in Morse’s hotel room. Sleepily Thursday nods, his hand playing across Morse’s bare chest.

“How did you find me, here in Venice, Sir?” asks Morse in all innocence.

“You left a trail of clues a mile wide!” scoffs Thursday. “Letter to Joan telling us what you were up to. Talk of Venice at New Year’s, registering your name and hotel with the British Consul here. Even left me a map in your room to make sure I got to the cemetery on time.”

“Oh!” says Morse, not denying how blatantly he’d reeled in Thursday’s help.

“You could have told me, Morse. Before you ran off,” says Thursday affronted.

“I tried to but you didn’t want to know!” protests Morse.

“You just needed to explain yourself properly instead of haring off on your own secret mission,” argues Thursday, barely controlling his impatience at Morse’s recklessness. “Could have got us both killed!”

He will be angry with Morse later, now is not the time for chiding him. He holds the anger at bay by thinking on what he might have lost, how Morse might have perished in a cold, damp Venetian cemetery had he not come to the rescue. There’s no smugness in Thursday, no sense of grievance, only a profound relief that he was able to save Morse’s life.

Morse tips back his head and lets out a long sigh. He bites back harsh words in consideration of who he’s arguing with. Thursday needn’t have dropped everything to come after him to Venice. He needn’t have put his life at risk by being shot at by Talenti. And he certainly needn’t have kissed and comforted Morse so careingly just now.

It’s time Morse paid him back some of the favours he’s done him.

“You saved my life,” Morse admits. “I should have thanked you, Sir.”

“No need, lad. Just wanted to see you safe, that’s all. And it’s Fred.”

“No, I mean, I want to thank you properly, Fred!” Morse says with heavy emphasis on using his name once more. 

He wriggles down the bed to come face to face with his former governor. There is a message in Morse’s tone that Thursday cannot read until Morse pushes his palm against the front of Thursday’s underpants.

“No, no, you’re alright, lad, you’re alright,” insists Thursday suddenly feeling a little prim. He has an erection, how could he not have after helping Morse jerk himself off, but he’d not considered following it through.

It appears that Morse has other ideas. He presses into Thursday’s warm belly and begins kissing him again. Morse is persistent and continues kissing Thursday while he slips his hand into Thursday’s pants. Thursday is surprised to find he is enjoying this determined attempt to seduce him. It’s a first in his experience and he gets the clear message that Morse is more than keen to pleasure him.


	7. ‘Night, Fred

Morse has taken it upon himself to thank Thursday for saving his life in a most unconventional way. He is groping Thursday as they lie in bed together, determined to rouse and satisfy him. 

“Steady!” huffs Thursday, but he’s not objecting, not really, he’s just surprised at how forceful Morse is. For Morse is all hands now, gripping hold of Thursday’s prick and pulling at his waistband, while kissing him hard. Thursday kisses him back needing no more persuasion.

As Thursday rolls onto his back to get more comfortable, Morse strips him of his pants in a sudden move and tosses them aside. When Morse tugs off his vest, Thursday somewhat shyly drops both hands over his heart to cover the livid scars left from being shot in the chest. He’s not fussed about being naked in front of Morse, but tries to hide the scars he bears, not wanting to remind his lad of the shooting and the painful aftermath for both of them. Morse hesitates then carefully pushes back Thursday’s hands and bends to kiss the ugly scars tenderly. 

There’s a moment of shared grief as they both recall the shooting that nearly cost Thursday his life and cost Morse his liberty for many dark months. Jailed on trumped up charges, Morse had an agonising wait to hear that Thursday had finally pulled through and survived a coma after the trauma of being shot. And Thursday had to search out Morse in his forest hideaway to persuade him to pick up his life and career again. They linger on the edge of shared reminiscences, the unspoken bond between them stronger than ever.

Thursday rest his hands lightly on Morse’s head as the lad drops kisses further down his hairy chest, across his ribs and belly, Morse’s hand closing hard round Thursday’s thickening prick. With a thrill Thursday realises that Morse is heading lower. He’s no objections, Morse has got him in the mood for a good shag and seems to be keen to continue what he’s doing, so he lets himself enjoy the ride.

“You sure, lad?” Thursday questions gently.

Morse hums affirmation and drops his face into Thursday’s belly. Nuzzling into him, Morse licks and kisses and starts to suck Thursday’s hot prick.

He’s not prepared for how blissful the feeling is of Morse’s warm mouth wrapped around his prick and groans out loud at the first few sweet sucks Morse gives it. He quickly loses himself to Morse’s enthusiasm and lets him do what he will. If this is how Morse wants to thank him then Thursday is happy to let him.

In minutes, he is struggling to focus properly. Thursday lies on his back, pushing his hips hard into Morse’s embrace while every muscle strains for release. His hands are gentle on the back of Morse’s head. He won’t force the lad, won’t make him choke, just lets him have control.

“Yes, yes…oh, lad…oh, slow down…”

Morse’s head bobs up and down, Thursday’s prick jammed firmly in the back of his throat.

“Where’d he learn to do this?” wonders Thursday fleetingly. “He seems to like it.”

Damn that feels good.

Thursday allows himself a quick look down, tugs his fingers tangled in Morse’s curls and pulls the lad’s sweet face up to gaze at him. 

“Those eyes, my God, a man could lose himself in them,” thinks Thursday.

He closes his own to concentrate as Morse plunges back down, wrapping his mouth firmly around Thursday’s prick and sucking for all he’s worth. Thursday rides the wave of sheer emotion building up inside him, all the horror of the recent days left behind in a huge surge of raw pleasure, just thankful to be alive.

He bucks once, twice, drops his hands to grab Morse by the shoulders and roars out his lad’s name as he comes.

“Endeavour!”

There is a moment of blankness, a moment of quiet, before Thursday comes to his senses.

Morse is crawling clumsily to his side, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He lifts Thursday’s arm to snuggle under it and pulls himself in close to Thursday’s heaving chest.

Thursday is gasping for breath and close to tears. Whether it is relief or emotion or regret he does not know but he cannot hide from Morse. Thursday turns away his face, throws an arm over his eyes and tries to catch his breath. He is beyond words and understanding, caring only that his lad is alive and here with him now.

8888

It takes a good few minutes for Thursday to get control of himself again. It has grown cold in the room, their overheated bodies clammy with sweat and sex.

Fussing over the bedclothes, Morse pulls the covers up around them both and turns his back to Thursday, creeping away to his own side of the bed. 

But after so much death last night he wants to feel the human warmth of his lad’s firm young flesh, so Thursday heaves himself over to Morse’s side of the bed. He catches hold of Morse and spoons in behind him. Morse wriggles his arse into Thursday’s lap as Thursday slowly curls around him, one arm pulling Morse tight against his chest.

Thursday huffs a loud sigh into Morse’s ear and settles down to sleep with Morse in his arms.

“‘Night, Fred,” whispers Morse.

“Endeavour,” Thursday kisses Morse sweetly behind his ear.

They have many questions from this case that may never be answered and bitter regrets that will burden them, but they have found a sort of peace together. No one else will ever know this night’s events nor learn how they kept one another steady in the face of death and misery. Morse is alive, which is all that Thursday had prayed for. He hugs his lad close, knowing he has done the right thing to be able bring him home safely.

**Author's Note:**

> Endeavour is readily distracted / comforted by having sex so he’s turned to the one man who can satisfy him in his darkest hour. And Fred just can’t say “No” to his darling lad. Seems obvious to me that this is what will happen ...!
> 
> What do you think???


End file.
